Hello, ladies and gents!
Blimey, I'm sorry for the delay on the update. Things have been a little wild here at my job, so I haven't had too much time to write. I decided to make this chapter a little longer, to make up for things. Lucky you! Hopefully you enjoyed the last chapter. The car crash scene was interesting to write. We'll see the aftermath of that crash in this chapter...
Well, I won't keep you long, reading this note. I hope you enjoy. Cheers!
It was the tinny grinding of a clock that tolled me awake.
Almost as if someone flipped a switch, my body gave a collective, miserable groan as lucidity flowed back into my skull, the thick haze of unconsciousness that had smothered my brain dissolving.
I didn't have any way to prepare myself for the shockwave of pain that struck me not a moment later. It lingered like nightmare - a sharp, involuntary gasp throttled my uneasy breathing as my body tensed into stone, even my fingers and toes curling in response.
My senses were bulldozed by an avalanche of pain. I could suddenly feel every inch of me all at once: my joints and muscles seemed to melt into molten puddles beneath my skin; I could have sworn someone had shoved knives through the bones of my legs; my head began to pound feverishly, as though someone were drilling a jackhammer into my forehead; maybe I was still trying to wake up, but my spine seemed to leak liquid bone into the soft, wide surface I found myself lying on.
It took almost every ounce of strength I had to so much as peel my eyelids open - they were stuck at first, almost glued together - but I somehow managed. God, even my eyeballs were sore. After my double vision cleared, my heart began to pound as I took in every detail of the room I found myself in.
It wasn't the room that scared me. The room was actually… normal. No, it was the disquieting knowledge that I had no idea where I was that made my blood curdle.
I definitely wasn't in the car, anymore. An antique ceiling fan churned reverently above me, its tulip-cup glass fixtures dark. Beneath the fan sat a wide wooden hutch, filled with books and DVDs and furnished with an old-fashioned television set, also dark. The three walls I could see were washed with a faded blue paint, with cobwebs and cracks clinging to the pale crown moulding in the corners.
My eyes continued to wander around the room. I didn't dare move my head - even though it was cradled in a heavenly pillow - for fear my brittle, stiff neck might spontaneously snap. To my right, I found warm golden sunlight filtering through a tall window, giving the room a midday lustre and igniting the dust motes dancing through the air. The light stretched across the room, bathing the leather cushions of a love seat to my left and the face of a large grandfather clock behind it.
So that was where the clock was. From what I could make out from its hands, it was around half past five. My sore jaw clenched as I swallowed a rock that had formed in my throat.
Just where the hell was I? And how long had I been out?
I didn't have to wait long to get my answer. Delirious from my rising panic, I watched the clock's brass pendulum swing back and forth, almost hypnotised by it, before my attention was ripped from the clock and to my stomach when it gave a starved whine that clawed ravenously through me.
My hand automatically flew to my abdomen, the movement sparking a searing arc of pain up my arm and into the shredded muscle of my shoulder. I cried out - probably a bit louder than I meant to - biting down on another scream of horror once I realised what I had done.
Like a hammer through a mirror, my voice rent the still silence of the room - not a moment later, I heard footsteps pattering urgently towards me, echoing along what sounded like a wooden floor. A hot wave of panic prickled my hairline; I tangled my aching fingers in the bedsheet draped over my body, breaking out in a sweat.
Holy shit, I'm not alone, I flustered. What do I do?!
There wasn't anything I could do. Unable to move due to my pain-induced paralysis, I simply laid there, anxiously waiting for whoever belonged to the footsteps to appear. There was no way I could fake that I was asleep; I knew they'd heard me.
My eyes widened at the sight of them, but they weren't what my petrified paranoia was expecting.
A small, middle-aged woman hurried into the room, wearing an expression of severe worry that enhanced the soft wrinkles in her pallid skin. Her thin, chocolatey hair was pulled back into a low bun, resting atop the collar of her airy summer dress that billowed behind her as she walked.
Her eyebrows rose with concern when she met my gaze. "Oh my word," she gasped, quickening her pace, making her way around the love seat and towards me. I only then noticed, as she approached, that I was lying down on a pull-out sofa bed in the middle of the living room.
She shuffled between the love seat and my bedside, murmuring, "Thank goodness you're awake. I was so worried - I thought you'd never come to." Her voice was sweet and tender, like biting into a juicy southern peach. The woman seated herself on the bed and laid her hand on my pillow. "How you feelin', darlin'?"
Breathing shakily through my nose, I stared her straight in her gentle, denim-blue eyes, trying to make sure I wasn't dreaming.
"Where am I?" I croaked. I barely recognised my own voice - it was coarse and trickled out of my ragged throat almost inaudibly.
She offered me a faint smile that eased my tensions for a small moment. "Why, you're on the Baker plantation, hon. Our home. It's a beautiful place; been in my husband's family for generations. Ain't a thing like Texas ranches, but I think you'll like it here." Her voice then took on a slightly gloomy undertone as she added, "Judging from that nasty accident you had… I reckon you'll be staying with us for quite some time."
"What? W-what do you mean?!" I wheezed, my eyes flying down to the bulky forms of my legs beneath the sheets. I knew I had survived a nightmarish wreck, but just how bad had it been on me?
If the bone-breaking pain was enough to go off of, then I wasn't looking forward to the news.
The woman gave a dismal sigh. "I tell you, it was just plain awful when Jack and Lucas brought you in a few nights ago. Our daughter woke us up in the middle of the night saying there'd been a mudslide on the main road; they found your car half-underwater in the bayou and pulled you out. I've… never seen so much blood outside the slaughterhouse…"
My stomach turned nauseously as she spoke, memories of the crash splicing through my mind. She continued, "We weren't sure you'd make it through till mornin', but we were wrong. You're quite the trooper, young man. Thankfully, my daughter Mia's good with medicine, so she was able to take a look at you and patch you up. Ain't that swell?"
I barely had the time to process her words before the woman, possibly not wanting to linger on the subject, laid her soft fingers on top of my hand, gently lifting it so I could see. The thick carpet of bandages taped to my skin was alarming enough, but it was the black watch on my wrist that jammed my racing thoughts. I didn't own a watch; I've destroyed every watch I've ever owned.
It looked expensive. It had a large, square, digital face, and it looked to be displaying my heart rate through an uneven, glaring red line.
The woman explained, "Mia gave you this to monitor your health for a while. Can't for the life of me remember what it's called, but she said it would help." She smiled warmly. "And that's all we wanna do: help a poor gentleman find his way. We wouldn't be good folk if we didn't."
I swallowed, looking from the woman's kindly face to the red, flashing watch, a storm of awe brewing in my gut. I wasn't sure what to say. This woman and her family had saved my life and taken me under their roof, and I was a complete stranger. I counted myself lucky to have fallen into their laps. Who knows how my life would have ended up if I hadn't?
I wasn't sure how I'd ever repay them, so I started with my gratitude. Turning my gaze to the woman, I said, "Thank you. So much… er…?"
Her face softened. "Marguerite. Marguerite Baker. And what was your name, sweetheart?"
"Joseph Bell," I replied, offering up a smile of my own. It hurt to pull on my face like that, but it was the very least I could do.
Marguerite nodded softly. "Well, you are very welcome, Joseph. It's a pleasure. Now, you've been lying on that bed for a good two days. I imagine you're mighty hungry. How about I pop into the kitchen and bring y'all something to eat, hm? Sound good?"
My stomach twitched and burned at her mentioning of food. "Yes, please," I breathed.
"Well all right, then. You sit tight. I'll be right back." With that, Marguerite gave my hand a gentle pat and retreated out of the room. After she left, she hollered, "If you need anything in the meantime, just call!"
"Thank you, Marguerite," I responded, raising my gritty voice.
Easing out a sigh, I stared into the ceiling fan again. I'd like to say that the discomfort I had felt upon waking up vanished altogether after meeting Marguerite. And it did, for the most part.
But there was something nagging at me. Something I couldn't put a name on.
I reassured myself, over and over, that everything was fine. If it hadn't been for the Bakers, I'd be dead. We're talking obituary, funeral, cemetery - dead. But I wasn't, because of the Bakers. They had pulled me out of my wrecked car. They had welcomed me into their home and cared for me. Cleaned up my blood. I shouldn't have any reason to feel uncomfortable around them.
I stowed my lingering resignations, my body relaxing as I listened to Marguerite's footsteps shuffling around beneath the clinking of silverware. A nostalgic smile took over my face, while lying there. I kinda felt like I was a kid again, sick at home from school.
As I watched the ceiling fan spin, another set of footsteps thudded along the ceiling, startling me, causing the fan to shudder slightly. The footsteps then multiplied, racing across the floor above me till I heard them pounding down what sounded like a flight of stairs.
The new pair of footsteps thundered to where I figured Marguerite was, where they stopped.
"Mama, is he awake?" a girl's voice wondered. She sounded innocent and eager - her voice didn't appear to have the charming accent that Marguerite's had had. "Please tell me he's awake."
"Why, he is, sweetie. Now, I know you're excited that we have a guest, but try not to crowd the poor man. He's still in rough shape," Marguerite replied. "Here, why don't you take this to him. He hasn't eaten in days. Mia, honey, go with her, see how he's doin'."
"Of course, mama," another woman replied. Her voice was soft and light, lacking the accent as well.
The first girl must have been extremely excited to see me - she and the other woman, Mia, I think, came briskly into the room not a second later. Now with more curiosity than trepidation, I turned my eyes to catch a glimpse of them.
The two young women were an interesting pair to behold. They each had pale, almost sickly-looking skin, just like Marguerite, who followed in behind them, but other than that… they didn't resemble their mother at all.
They... couldn't have been her daughters, could they?
I found myself studying them with a mixture of intrigue and confusion as they crept further into the room, each of their faces lighting up at the sight of me. I felt obligated to return the smile, offering as much of a curl of my lip as I could, since my face was still sore.
The girl in the front smiled back and shyly hid her face behind her thick, shiny curtain of inky black hair. For a moment, my brain itched - I could have sworn I had seen her before, but I couldn't think of where. It refused to come to me, no matter how much I strained my mind.
She was taller than the other girl and Marguerite, her face young and lovely, her body thin, her gait graceful. She looked to be about 18 or 19. Her eyes were an icy blue and seemed to dive deep inside you whenever they brushed over you. She wore a loose, grey cotton dress that hung off of her bony shoulders, and she held in front of her a silver tray topped with a few bone china saucers and a drinking glass.
The second woman was small, petite, and, undoubtedly, the most gorgeous thing in the room. My jaw couldn't help but drop a little when I saw her dressed in a pink, lacey spaghetti-strapped top and torn denim shorts. She appeared to be around my age. She had long hair too, but hers was wavy, and a unique, faded brown. Her eyes were a rich hazel, kind and inviting. She returned my weak smile with a breathtaking smile of her own that had my aching knees shaking.
If they really were her daughters, then damn - the Bakers had good-looking girls.
Marguerite snapped me out of my gaping by officially introducing them. "Joseph, these are two of my daughters. Eveline," she gestured to the girl with the tray, who uncovered her face and smiled wider. "And Mia," she then laid a hand on the petite woman's bare shoulder.
"It's nice to finally meet you," Eveline murmured. "We thought you were dead."
Wow. Hell of a way to start a conversation. Her comment made me blink, but I shrugged it off. "Well… I'm not, thanks to you guys," I replied. "I really have no idea how I'm gonna repay you."
"Oh, hush, there's no need to repay us at all," Marguerite scolded. "It's the least we could do, considering that awful accident you were in. What kind of people would we be if we didn't lend a hand?"
"Yeah… what kind of people…" I trailed off.
Mia interrupted my thoughts as she brightly said, "We're so happy you're with us, Joseph. You're going to really, really like it here."
My eyes trailed around the pleasant sitting room and back to the three women at the foot of my bed. I smiled. "Yeah. I think I will, actually."
Eveline grinned, a childlike excitement illuminating her young, sallow face. "Oh, I'll make sure you do," she cooed. "Don't worry."
Another swell of my anxiety hit me again at the unsavoury, saccharine-sweet tone of her voice in which she said that. Something about her didn't feel right. It felt… familiar, as well. But what was I thinking? She was a Baker. And they were helping me. Why should I worry? Again, I dismissed the thought.
Marguerite broke the brief second of silence that followed Eveline's comment, chiming in, "All right, girls, you keep him company. I'm goin' to round up Zoe and the boys. They'll be wantin' to meet you, Joseph." She turned and began to leave, calling over her shoulder, "Make sure the boy eats!"
"Yes, mama!" Eveline and Mia replied in unison.
Eveline charged eagerly forward to my bedside, placing herself on the edge of the bed and setting the tray down as Mia came around the other side.
It had been lovingly arranged like a table. The tray, alongside the pair of saucers and drinking glass, was set with an elegant pair of silver spoons, a paper napkin, and a small jar of sugar. The embellished drinking glass beside the sugar was filled with a thin brown liquid, ice cubes floating in it, and topped with a lemon wedge. A miniature vase with a sprig of aromatic lavender tied the ensemble together.
Eveline began explaining the contents of the saucers to me, almost as if I were a child. "Mia said you'd need to eat softer foods because of your injuries," she began, her captivating, frigid blue eyes capturing my full attention. I couldn't seem to pull away. "So we got you some homemade peach-applesauce and the crawdad chowder we had for dinner last night with some sweet tea to finish it all off. I helped make the chowder, so it should be extra good," she giggled with pride.
I blinked, both starved and amazed, at the care that had gone into the tray. Marguerite had thought of everything. Not even my own mother put as much thought into little things like the lavender vase and the matching chinaware. I hoped I'd never have to admit that to her.
"Wow," I gasped. "This looks amazing." The peach-applesauce was thick and the colour of a sunset, giving off a tantalisingly sweet aroma; chunks of red-speckled crawdad meat, green onions, and spices floated alluringly in the creamy, steaming chowder, making my mouth overflow with hunger.
I swallowed my famished salivating. "Thank you very much. I can't wait to try this."
Eveline picked up the spoon in her white hand, wondering, "Do you need any help eating, Joseph? I don't mind. Really. I love helping."
It was sweet of her to offer, and I knew that I was hurt, but I didn't want resort to making the family spoon-feed me. That was asking too much, in my opinion. I shook my head. "No. Well… maybe to sit up a little…"
As Eveline readied herself to help me up, Mia came forward quickly, cautioning, "Be careful with him, Evie. He's really hurt. Let's do it together, okay?"
"Okay."
Mia peeled the sheet off of me, exposing my shirt. I did a double take. In the time that I'd been out, they'd changed me out of my tuxedo and into a gray, button-up, collared shirt with the sleeves cut off, showing off my bandage-wrapped arms. I didn't dare look at them longer than I had to. The sight made my stomach squirm.
"When did I change into this thing?" I mused as Mia and Eveline placed their hands by my armpits, ready to pull me up.
"When daddy and Lucas brought you in. Your other clothes were all muddy and bloody. Mama's washing them for you," Eveline explained.
With a quick heave, the two women hauled me more upright against the pillow, the action not without a shriek of protest from my pummelled shoulder. It seemed like the simple shift in position sent a domino effect through the rest of my body, an electric streak of pain shooting into my spine, my hips, and through both of my legs. I gave an agonised series of grunts, gritting my teeth until the pain began to settle.
Now safely propped up, Mia looked me dead in the eyes. "Are you all right? Nothing broke or anything?"
"No," I sighed. "No, I'm good. Thanks a lot."
"Don't mention it," she replied with a relieved smile. She quickly checked the codex on my wrist. "Your vitals look good for now. Here, you should eat. You look hungry."
Eveline immediately slid the tray closer to me, handing me the spoon. "Here."
"Thank you," I began, grabbing it from her with my only decent hand. Thank God I'm a lefty.
For several moments, our hands met. Her fingers were absolutely freezing - it honestly took me by surprise. Our gazes locked for a moment longer before a wide smile spread across her pale lips.
"I'm really happy you're here, Joseph," she said, her voice low. "Things are going to be so much better with you around. I just know it."
My blood slowed slightly in my veins. The way she looked at me… I'd seen it before. Only on a few other girls, but I'd seen it before. I wasn't sure how I felt about it. She was so young compared to me. I didn't think I was ready to even consider something like that so soon. Not after what I did.
I merely replied with a small smile. "Thanks, Eveline. I'm… glad you guys found me."
"Trust me," she said. "We're glad, too."
If only I had known what she meant.
I didn't hesitate to dig into the food, although with my aching muscles, it was a slow process. But I savoured every last second. Each spoonful of the peach-applesauce was nothing less than sweet, tangy ecstasy, and the meaty bits of crawdad combined with the flavourful chowder and green onions tickled me inside and out. I scraped both saucers dry in a matter of minutes before guzzling the chill, lemony tea in the glass. It soothed my parched throat on a heavenly level.
I had no idea food could taste that fantastically surreal. We definitely didn't eat like this in Texas. Damn, I'd been missing out.
Mia and Eveline watched me eat in total silence. There was a kind of sparkling fascination in Eveline's eyes that I had never seen in anyone outside of a child watching a magic trick. When I had swallowed my last mouthful of the tea, she wondered, "Did you like it?"
I nodded blissfully. "Oh yeah. That was delicious. I need to thank Marguerite again."
"Good," Eveline smiled. "If you're gonna be here awhile, then you're gonna have to like mama's cooking."
Suddenly the tea on my tongue soured. I swallowed hard, my euphoria dissipating as I turned to Mia. "That's what Marguerite said... And just… how long do you think that's gonna be, exactly? How bad is it?"
She didn't say a word, but her expression spoke volumes. The food in my stomach felt suddenly heavier. Reaching for the bed sheet, she tossed it off of me, revealing the rest of my body.
My body iced over in shock.
"It's… not good news," Mia muttered.
My response was weak and delayed as I fully took in the severity of my condition. "Holy shit," I wheezed.
In the time that I was unconscious, I'd been stripped down to my boxers and the old button-up shirt. Like I had seen before, a layer of bandages hid the skin on my arms from view. But my arms were the least of my problems - both of my legs from mid-thigh down were spread out on the bedding beneath me, the sheets horrifically blood-streaked. My legs laid stiff and unmoving, bound up tightly with a thick weave of equally blood-spotted gauze. They had been splinted with thin two-by-fours tied together with duct tape, and the gauze looked… jagged. My feet were bundled up similarly.
My breath began to stagger as my terror gushed back into me. In spite of the pain, I reached for the shirt's buttons, ripping them off as I tore it down its seam, exposing my chest. Another series of heavy gauze wrapped around my torso, with even more restricting the movement around my back and my stiff right shoulder.
"Oh, God," I panted, going limp, my head hitting the back cushion of the couch. "Holy… shit…"
Mia's hand appeared on my gauzed shoulder. "Joseph, hey, calm down. You're gonna be all right, trust me. I know it looks bad, but you'll be fine. I know you will."
My eyes bugged as I turned on her, my voice rising with every syllable I howled. "Like hell I will be! What the fuck happened to my legs, Mia?!"
Her gloomy expression said it all. "They're broken. In several places. We tried our best to realign them, but we can still fix them, don't worry."
Jaw dropping once again, I panicked, madly gesturing to my crooked bones, "Fix them?! Fucking fix them?! We can't fix this! Just what the fuck am I doing here?! I should be in a hospital! Holy shit! My legs… Holy shit…!"
"You don't understand, Joseph…" she began, but I wasn't listening, anymore.
Mia continued to try and talk me out of my hysteria, but I was inconsolable. Both the living room and her voice seemed to fade from my view as I stared, emptily, into nothing, my lungs quivering, my heart pounding out of control, my life spiralling to ruin in my mind.
What was I going to do? I'd be crippled for the rest of my life if I didn't get professional medical help, soon. Forget repairing the car and getting back onto the road.
I couldn't wrap my head around their reasoning for keeping me on their couch. Why hadn't they taken me to the hospital? My injuries were severe enough! What had possessed them to keep me here, when they clearly didn't have the resources to fix my shattered legs?
It was wrong. It was all wrong. But whether I liked it or not, I had to get help from the Bakers. I was in no position to help myself, at the moment.
As I slowly came back down to Earth, Mia's voice filled my ears, "...road is out of our control, and I'm sorry, but - "
"No," I groaned, shaking my head, cutting her off. "No, no, no, we can't. I have to get professional help - I have to go to a hospital. Please," I plead, facing her, my head heavy. "You have to take me, I beg you. I really, really appreciate everything you and your family have done for me, so far, but please, I can't stay here like this. I have to get to the hospital."
Before Mia could reply, someone else did for her.
"I'm afraid that's not gon'to work out, son," they said.
I must say I rather enjoyed writing Marguerite's character and dialogue. She was such a sweet woman before everything happened. But Eveline is a little unsettling, and Mia doesn't seem too put together, either... The mystery continues!
I hope you enjoyed it. Leave me a comment, if you did!
I'll try to get the next chapter out quicker. Cheers!